Roller Coaster
by OzGeek
Summary: A P.O. climbs out of a moving roller coaster and McGee's sister's childhood friend is a suspect. A little McAbby. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

McGee stood in the icy rain, trying to clamp an errant umbrella between one shoulder and his neck while sketching with the other hand. The sight of the old rickety rollercoaster had brought back some unpleasant memories. For many years, he had dreaded the obligatory trips to theme parks which he was assured he would enjoy. Every time, he ended up throwing up somewhere. Then there was a blissful hiatus when his parents deemed he was "too old" for such things. Then, just when he thought his life was blissfully free of rearing, plummeting carriages, they had insisted that he accompany his little sister and her friends.

The cold seeped though his warm coat, chilling him to the bone. It was only early afternoon but the drizzle made it seem more like late evening. The smell of damp wood mixed with damp yellow boarder plastic tape and damp people milling about assaulted his senses and he would have given anything to be somewhere warm and dry.

He sighed deeply, lowering his sodden sketch pad to survey the picture in front of him. A marine, just off the boat for a little R & R was now enjoying a lot of RIP. He looked up at the peak of the track, squinting against the rain. It was a very long fall. He hoped the guy wasn't alive all the way down. He hoped more that he hadn't felt his head smear across the pavement when he landed.

McGee shuddered and shook his head to remove the image.

There was crying somewhere behind him: witnesses, presumably. He could hear Ziva's strained voice trying to extract reluctant accounts without resorting to torture. He could hear from the tone of her voice that she was getting desperate. He turned and walked over to help: the witnesses not Ziva.

It was her hands he recognised first, clutching at her pale green handbag. Countless times he had watched those hands with their shiny red fingernails skim across the keyboard. At first, she was slow and hesitant – very hunt and peck, but over as time, she had grown fluent. Years of piano training had lead to her adding a flourish every time she hit the return key. He had teased her about it constantly.

He was almost upon her before she looked up at him.

"Tim?" She was incredulous.

"Hey, Jen", he said quietly. In all the years since he had last set eyes on it, her face had not changed. He knew it well enough to sketch from memory.

"Oh, Tim," she turned and buried her head in his chest.

One arm wound around her automatically and he hoped she couldn't read his mind. All those guilty little fantasies he used to have about her when he was a teenager. How he would have loved for her to have fallen into his arms then: speaking his name softly, craving his strength.

Suddenly, he was a hormonally ravaged teenager again. His confidence drained like water from an old bath, complete with gurgle (he should really get something to eat), leaving him feeling naked and shivering.

He felt her rest one hand against his chest and he worried she would detect his heart raging against his ribs like a caged wild animal. Her hair was so close he could smell the shampoo. Damp shampoo: like she was fresh from the shower. He'd seen her like that once, long ago, when she had slept over with his sister. That image had provided months of pleasant dreams in his youth.

"Care to introduce us, McGee?" Gibbs' question was laconic as always.

"Um, ah, sorry, ah boss", he stammered, moving away from her a little so she could see Gibbs' face.

"This is Jen, she was a, ah, friend, of my sister."

"She is also a witness, McGee", Gibbs' eyes locked with his for a moment to make sure he understood the words 'witness' and 'suspect' were interchangeable at this point, "She was sitting next to the victim when he went over."

"Yes, boss," he acknowledged. Satisfied, Gibbs broke off the stare.

McGee looked down at her red-rimmed eyes and his heart did a little flutter. If only she could have looked at him like that all those years ago.

Tony appeared from nowhere, panting for breath and dripping wet. "That's a big fall, Boss.." he began.

He stopped, mid-sentence, eyebrows raised in full surprise mode.

"She's an old friend," McGee offered by way of explanation.

"Ah huh."

"Of my little sister," McGee clarified.

A huge grin spread over Tony's face. "Oh…." He nodded conspiratorially.

"Tony…."

"What have you got, DiNozzo?" Gibbs cut in.

"Huge fall, boss!" Tony was immediately distracted, "Second peak along. Look at that, isn't she a beauty."

"Go up and get a closer look," said Gibbs' bluntly, turning abruptly.

McGee looked up at the high peak, barley visible through the steadily increasing rain. He had the distinct feeling he wasn't going to enjoy this.


	2. Taken for a ride

"Usually, of course, we don't run this thing in the rain," the attendant began.

McGee closed his eyes for a moment before asking the inevitable: "Why?"

The attendant shrugged, "Bar gets too slippery, seat gets slippery and besides, who wants to ride with rain coming at their face at 100 miles an hour?"

McGee gave him a tight smile: who indeed? The rain had eased up but was still was falling at a steady rate. In the background, he could hear the sounds of the offending carriage being hauled off to the garage for Abby's perusal.

"Maybe he just slipped out?" He was only half joking.

The attendant stared at him for a moment, stunned, then shook his head and turned his attention to Gibbs.

"Described what happened," Gibbs prompted.

"He was a big guy," the attendant explained, "like him."

The index finger was aimed squarely at McGee, "and I had to jam the bar down on him."

Tony shot McGee a grin and McGee responded with a roll of his eyes.

"And we all saw him," the attendant continued in awe, "he just climbed out while it was on the up-track to the second hill and rolled out the side. Couldn't believe I was seeing it. Nobody could."

"Show us," Gibbs commanded quietly.

The attendant shook himself free of the vision and returned to his official voice.

"Welcome to Mighty Mouse, the scariest roller coaster you've ever been on," he droned.

"And where was the marine sitting?" Gibbs asked him, nonplussed by the performance.

"Back carriage," he replied.

"McGee," Gibbs ordered, "rear carriage."

McGee sighed: depressed but resolute and headed for the carriage. There was a familiar morbid finality to the whole situation. He was sill a little sore from his ballroom dancing the night before. No, he reminded himself, "personal trainer". That's what he'd put in his calendar at work and a fine Tony-friendly euphemism it too was if he did say so himself. He dreaded to think what Tony would say if he found out about his ballroom dancing lessons. Let alone the pole dancing classes.

"Please leave all bags, hats and glasses in the holding area to your right," the attendant intoned.

McGee paused, removed his hat and backpack, placed them in the required area and climbed laboriously into the rear carriage.

"What happens if someone doesn't want to give up their stuff?" he asked casually.

"Then they don't ride. It's a danger to themselves and others," the attendant had clearly repeated the speech many times.

Tony tossed his glasses on top of McGee's backpack excitedly.

"Please, Boss?" he pleaded. He was positively vibrating with anticipation.

Gibbs gave him a wry smile, "Go on," he inclined his head in the direction of the carriages.

"Alright!"

Tony leapt into the carriage in front of McGee and drummed his hands on the back of the seat in front of him. He spun to face McGee.

"Hands in the air when we reach the top, Probie!"

McGee shook his head heavily.

"Hey," Gibbs warned, "This is no joy ride, DiNozzo. When you get to that second peak I want you to have a good look around. See if there's anyway someone could have come off this thing."

"Right Boss," there was a note of sobriety but Tony's excitement still shone through.

"Hey," he said suddenly to the attendant, "Is there anyway we can stop this at the second peak?"

"It's a roller coaster, Tony," McGee pointed out, "You pull it to the top, then it coasts, hence the name."

Tony shot him a dirty look, "I was only asking, Probie," he muttered.

"So now what?" Gibbs prompted the operator.

"Now I clamp down the bars," he hit a button on the control panel and there was a hydraulic hiss as the bars of the carriage slowly lowered.

"Then I do a check to see if all the bars have locked securely." He checked Tony and McGee. "Hmm," he frowned, "the other guy was fatter, the bar cut across his stomach. I had trouble getting it to lock."

McGee gave Tony a smug smile.

"And then," he hit a switch and they were off.

It was all depressingly familiar to McGee: the long, endless climb, the creaking of the track, the groaning of the carriages. They paused at the top of the highest peak and hovered.

"See if you can get out," Tony suggested.

McGee closed his eyes in horror for a moment, but he gave the bar a tug anyway. It didn't move.

"Can't move the barrrrrrrrrrrr."

The rain stung his face like little ballistic missiles. At least he had an excuse to keep his eyes closed.

"Ok, second peak coming up," Tony's voice was almost snatched by the wind, "Quick, look out."

McGee forced his eyes open and leant slightly over the side of the carriage to see the track. It was a looooong way down. His stomach lurched and looked for somewhere to deposit its contents. He closed his eyes with a shudder and renewed his grip on the cold wet metal bar.

The downward plummet was followed up by an abrupt shift to the left. McGee slammed into the side of the coaster, his hands squeezing at the slippery bar uselessly. There was another dip which forced his stomach up into his throat where it almost made it out before he was slammed into the other side of the carriage and it rattled its way back down into place.

As the carriage levelled off and slowed to a halt, Tony turned back to McGee, his arms still raised.

"Woooo!" He whooped, "Pro….bie?"

His face froze as he laid eyes on McGee; green and wet, clinging onto the bar as if his life depended on it. He had never seen someone so miserable on a roller coaster ride. His hands lowered to a surrender position.

"Hey," he warned, "I've got a date after work tonight. Don't you dare hurl on this suit."

McGee prised his eyes open to glare at him. He didn't risk opening his mouth for fear of what might come out. The moment the attendant raised the bar, Tony was up and out, backing away from McGee in alarm. McGee sat unmoving for a moment trying to gather himself. He could feel it coming and he didn't think his muscles were supple enough to leap out of the carriage in time.

Suddenly, there was a bucket in his hands but before he had time to consider the congruity of the situation, his stomach squeezed itself into a ball and he started retching. Despite his misery, he was vaguely aware of an arm around his back with its hand supporting his forehead. Another hand was on his stomach massaging it gently to ease the cramping. It was a comforting feeling that reminded him of how his mother used to hold him as a child when he was sick. When it was over, he slowly peeling his eyes open to see Gibbs untwining himself from him and taking the bucket.

"Thanks boss," he whispered hoarsely.

On rubbery legs, he struggled from the carriage. Tony gave him a wide berth as he staggered past, shuffling sideways to keep an even distance between them. He made his way down the stairs to where Gibbs was standing in discussion with Ziva. Tony followed at a safe distance.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jen watching him. He avoided her glance. It's not as if she hadn't seen him like this before but he had sort of hoped to impress her with how mature he had become. She had always been a roller coaster aficionado. He was sure that she would get on well with Tony on that score.

Gibbs looked up as he arrived.

"Could you raise the bar?"

"Ah, no boss."

"And you didn't see anything out the sides or on the track?"

McGee swallowed hard for a moment and the acidic saliva burnt in his throat, "Ah, no but I didn't ah look long," he admitted.

Gibbs gave him his "unbelievable" look.

"Let's get out of here," he said finally stomping off into the cold night air.

* * *

The combination of darkness, the swish of the tyres on the wet road, Gibbs' unusually sedate driving, low voices in the car and a rather late night polishing off a chapter of his latest book, was having the effect of lulling him to sleep in the back seat. Suddenly, the car was stopped and Tony's voice was in his ear.

"Common' daredevil," he said, "I'm driving you home."

McGee struggled groggily from the car.

"We'll take your car," said Tony jovially.

McGee sighed. He had known he would rue the day his sister talked him into buying that Porsche.


	3. Sprung

It was Abby's dream come true: an entire roller coaster train all to herself and all she wanted to do was jump in, raise her arms above her head and scream at the top of her lungs. The moment she had received the email first thing in the morning, she had leapt from her stool, thrown on her orange overalls and raced for the elevator. She admired the train for a few minutes, savouring the joy and then collected a specimen jar and a small knife and started looking for evidence.

She was still smiling wickedly when the door squished open and McGee walked in wearing orange overalls to match her own.

"Whatchya got, Abbs?"

"Nothing much," she admitted, "but I did manage to scrape something off the underside of the bar." She held up a small vial containing a grey/pink powdery substance.

"Any fingerprints?" The moment he asked, he knew he was going to regret it.

"Yes, McGee," she said sarcastically, "every adolescent in the area is currently under suspicion.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the tirade pass. When it seemed safe, he opened them again.

"Can I try something?"

"Sure."

"The attendant said the guy was the same build as me," McGee started to analyse thoughtfully, "and yet he said had trouble getting the bar into the locked position because of this guy's stomach."

Abby frowned at him, scrutinising his stomach until she met his annoyed glance.

"I was just about to check the locking mechanism," she offered placing the small vial carefully on the evidence trolley.

McGee hopped into the front carriage. "Can you lock it?"

Abby pulled down the bar and it locked easily. She shrugged at him. "Yep, I can on this one, but that's not the one he was in. And don't even think about it, I want to check over the whole carriage first before your butt contaminates the evidence."

"OK, I'm just going to have another look at this guy."

* * *

McGee never relished his experiences in autopsy and this time was going to be no exception. When he arrived, he was surprised to find the room abandoned, its frigid air seeming even more sterile than usual. As the door slid shut he could have swore in heard a woman's giggle. He must be losing it. He shrugged and took two steps towards the drawers before he realised he had no idea where the body he wanted was stored. He looked around for some sort of directory but the room was immaculately free of any documentation.

He sighed. If there was one thing worse than looking at a dead body in autopsy, it was sorting though a lot of dead bodies trying to find the right one. The best way, he decided, was to start at the top and conduct an orderly search.

He pulled open the first drawer and tried not to cringe at the rotting remains he found there. No, not that one. The second drawer was thankfully empty. By the time he had reached the third one, he was beginning to be grateful he hadn't had much for breakfast. Then he came across a drawer that seemed stuck. He fought until it grudgingly slid out revealing Palmer and agent Lee obviously interrupted doing something more related to starting life than ending it.

Palmer, lying on top of a rather flushed Agent Lee, looked up with an embarrassed smile on his face.

"Ahhh, sorry," McGee stammered, hurriedly shutting the drawer.

He was already at the adjacent drawer before his pragmatic investigator side kicked in the he rocked back to the previous drawer. Opening it a couple of inches he peered in and asked sotto voice:

"Where's the body from the roller coaster?"

"Bottom row, second from the right," said Jimmy helpfully.

"OK," said McGee awkwardly, "thanks." He slid the drawer closed for a moment before pulling it out again, "My right or yours?"

Palmer let out a slight sigh of exasperation.

"Yours," he said indicating with his head that McGee could shut the drawer anytime now.

"Ah, right, thanks," McGee gave him an apologetic smile and shut the drawer again.

"And he wonders why I write that he dreams of humping dead people," he muttered to himself.

He shook his head to remove the memory of what he had just seen, trying to recall the comforting images of the dismembered and rotting corpses he had previously been repressing and headed for the drawer Jimmy had indicated.

He pulled hard and stood staring for a moment sizing up the man before him. To first order, they did share a body shape although the guy on the slab seemed a little worse the wear from his recent abrupt meeting with planet earth. What's more, the guy was not fat. He obviously worked out. What was the deal with the bar?

He slid the drawer closed thoughtfully and headed out the door back to Abby with an absent "thank you" and a couple of knocks with one of his knuckles on Palmer's drawer on his way out.

* * *

"What's up in autopsy?" called Abby from under the last carriage of the train.

"More that you'd think," replied McGee thoughtfully. "Did you know Palmer and Lee were…"

"Oh yeah, Ducky told me."

"What, why….," he paused and set his brain in neutral for a moment and attempted to jump start it again.

"But why in an autopsy drawer?"

"You've done hinker, McGee," Abby reminded him.

"Only with you," he pointed out.

"You got to get out more, McGee."

McGee pouted, "It's just: why am I always the last to know?"

Abby pushed herself out from under the carriage, "because you're too sweet."

"No I'm not!" McGee was indignant.

"Did you get them on McGee TV?" Abby challenged.

"Ah, well, no…." he averted his eyes, "I, ah, just didn't think of it…"

"Too sweet," Abby dismissed him jumping up.

He made to protest but the window of opportunity was slammed in his face by Abby's abrupt: "Jump in this carriage and I'll see if I can lock it on you. I can't find anything wrong with the mechanism at all."

He opened his mouth a couple of times deciding whether to acquiesce or attempt to retrieve his honour. Abby's impatient look over-ruled any thoughts of self inflation.

"Right," he said, climbing in the carriage.

Abby cast a professional eye over the carriage and the bar and brought the bar down hard on his lap. The force of the impact caused him to grunt.

"Was that really necessary?"

"It is if we're going to get this right."

She frowned as she examined every detail of the arrangement, pausing once to stare intently at his groin until he squirmed uncomfortably.

"What wrong, McGee?" Abby teased, "did I squash anything precious?"

"Ah, no…no you didn't. It's just that you keep staring…"

"A4 spiral bound notepad," Abby concluded sharply and released him from the bar's grip.

"What?"

"What you used 15 years ago to cover….that."

He shot her an exasperated look, "What did you conclude about the bar."

"I was more interested in 15 years ago…."

"When you were how old?"

"There is nothing wrong with the bar!" she snapped.

"Well, he's fitter than I am. Or at least he was. There's no way that attendant had to ram that bar against the guy's stomach. What the hell happened?"


	4. Reality bites

From the observation room, the woman McGee had lusted over as a teenager was looking very impatient. She glanced down at her hands and huffed in frustration. Tugging her handbag bag open with some ferocity, she dug out a small red bottle. McGee watched in fascination as she unscrewed the cap and then smiled at the familiar gesture. She was doing her nails. Nothing frustrated her more than those nails. If she scraped a bit of polish on the keyboard, all programming would screech to a halt while she did a touch up.

Sometimes, like now, she would redo all the nails, like a cat preening in times of stress. He leaned his forehead against the glass gently and watched her earnest work. Strange to think that after all this time, some habits never died.

She looked up as Gibbs walked in, threading the brush into the bottle and screwing it shut tightly. As Gibbs sat, she tucked the bottle back into her bag, being careful not to touch her nails against the side as she did so. McGee smiled fondly but straightened abruptly as the door to the observation room opened and Tony and Ziva walked in.

Tony gave him an almost apologetic look but before McGee had time to work out why, Gibbs started talking.

"Would you say Petty Officer Dorgon was in good shape?"

"I don't go out with losers," she replied with a venom that took McGee aback.

Gibbs, however, seemed unfazed.

"So he worked out – good abs?"

"Oh yeah," she agreed with a wistful smile.

In McGee's fantasies, she was always naïve and unspoilt. Now she seemed downright predatory.

Gibbs shot a hesitant look at the one-way mirror to the observation room then turned back to his subject with a resigned sigh.

"So was Petty Officer Dorgon your client for the just the day or was night included?"

McGee's was furious. How dare Gibbs insinuate Jen was only going out with a sailor on R & R because…

"How did you know?"

McGee's jaw dropped as the full force of what she was saying hit him. He felt sick to his stomach. He rested his head on the cool glass for a moment and closed his eyes. His little teenage fantasies now seemed dirty and perverse. He wondered how he was going to tell his sister.

"One of my agents recognised the…signs," said Gibbs tactfully glancing at the observation room window.

McGee's head jerked around to stare at Tony who gave him another apologetic smile. This time he understood what it meant.

Ziva, too was looking at Tony, her highbrows arched high in surprise. "And you knew this because…"

"I was a cop, Officer David," he said steadily.

"Of course," she turned back to the window not knowing what to believe.

"It was mainly a day job," Jen replied in a business-like tone that sent a chill down McGee's spine, "but I had hopes of a continuation of services after the fair."

McGee sighed and looked back through the window. Now he looked at her, really looked at her, her face looked harder than before. Maybe times had not been good to her. He turned and left, he really didn't need to hear any more of this.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

McGee found Abby in the lab pushing buttons on her mass spectrometer.

"Gibbs wants to know what you got off the roller coast body?" he tried to sound normal but there was a distinct note of dejection in his voice that he was having trouble masking.

"Well, hello to you too."

He blushed, squeezed his eyes for a moment and licked his lips to start again.

"Ahh, sorry," he apologised, "Hi Abbs, anything from the blood sample yet?"

"Better. Childish, but better. Tell Gibbs our sailor was high in more than just the vertical sense."

"On what?"

"Some barbiturate cocktail. Hardly uncommon for a sailor on the first day of R and R: A little drugs, a little roller coaster ride. It's all good."

"Yeah," McGee agreed ruefully, "until you fall out the carriage."

Abby cringed in agreement.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gibbs was just escorting Jen out when McGee found him but it was not Gibbs he approached.

"Do you do drugs?" McGee's demanded.

"What? No!" she seemed indignant. McGee wondered how she could claim dignity in prostitution but not in drugs.

"Look," she held out her arms for inspection, "I'm clean, always have been, always will. There are too many out there in the business who lose it all thanks to drugs."

Gibbs moved to stand between them.

"Abby found drugs in P.O. Dorgon's system, Boss. Barbiturate cocktail…."

"Not here, McGee," Gibbs warned quietly.

McGee halted, panting slightly and reassessed the situation. Jen was a suspect, not an old friend, and he was feeding her information.

He looked down, ashamed at his oversight. "Ahhh, sorry boss, I'll fill you in later."

Gibbs nodded solemnly and motioned for Jen to precede him.

"Maybe we can catch up sometime," she offered with a sweet smile, as she walked past.

Somehow that smile had a whole new connotation. He felt like she was soliciting him.

"Yeah," he replied wanely. "Maybe when this is all over."


	5. Sweet dreams

McGee was on a roll. Sitting at his typewriter in his wooden chair in the gloomy post midnight light, the only sounds were the dulcet tones from his bedroom stereo and the frantic clacking of the mechanical keys. He had his characters right where he wanted them.

He was momentarily distracted by a noise and shot a brief annoyed glance over his shoulder to the front door to find nothing amiss. His eyes were sucked back to the page immediately and he continued his story undeterred. Something stung his arm and he whacked at whatever was trying to bite him with a quick slap, desperately trying not to loose continuity.

Slowly he found his mind was losing its grasp on the plot. He squinted hard to try to rein the page back into focus. His head felt like a large rock, wobbling precariously on top of his shoulders. He should probably get to bed. Then there were perfectly manicured red fingernails sliding over his shoulders, slithering down his blue T-shirt and slowly sliding it over his head. Her face came into view.

"I've waited a long time to do this," she whispered in a sultry voice.

"You….you can't be here," his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

"No one will know," her voice was silky smooth.

Then she was on his lap astride him, her breath hot on his face, her tongue wet and rough across his cheek. She was tweaking his nipples and occasionally, chewing on his earlobes. She was telling him that this was the right thing to be doing and he believed her. At some point she made the perfectly reasonable suggestion that they adjourn to the bedroom and he followed her compliantly but clumsily to his bed.

Suddenly, she was all over him, his pants were down, her fingernails danced around his most delicate regions in a thrillingly dangerous manner, all the while she whispered in his ear: questions, questions about the case, the evidence, the type of drugs found, who knew, what they knew. The game made perfect sense: if he pleased her with a good answer, she pleased him back. If the answer was not up to scratch, then she _was _up to scratch. It wasn't rocket science.

He was painfully close, he wished desperately for another question, any question, his favourite colour, anything. He was just one more question away from glory. He felt her breath hot against his lips.

"Who murdered Petty Officer Dorgon?"

He was shattered, he had no idea. He was so desperately close.

"I don't know," he whispered hoarsely.

There was a mometary pause and then: success! MIT examiners could learn a thing or two from this woman.

He lay panting and befuddled with a warm glow pulsing from his groin. Rolling heavily onto his side he felt slightly guilty about having such an explicit dream about her after all these years but then, nobody ever had to know. He smiled dreamily and tried to recall it again.

* * *

It wasn't the first time McGee had been late but it was the second. Like the last time, it caused immediate concern.

"Where's his goddam sister this time," Gibbs muttered, scanning desperately through his 100 strong unread emails.

"I'm going to his apartment boss," Tony stated, picking up his sig and heading for the elevator.

"DiNozzo."

Tony halted mid stride and turned to face his tormentor. "What!"

"Take Ziva with you."

Tony turned again and increased his pace, not bothering to respond as Ziva rustled around her drawer for her equipment and raced after him.

Tony offered to open the door. McGee's lock was so primitive he wondered why he ever bothered using it at all. He pushed the door opened silently and the two agents slid in the doorway, weapons raised. The room was eerily quiet save the elevator music emanating from the bedroom. As they stalked past the kitchen, Tony caught an obstructed view of McGee's writing desk through the bookcase used to divide the room. It looked clear. He indicated to Ziva to check the bedroom while he continued on to the desk.

McGee's blue T-shirt lay crumpled on the floor. He frowned, puzzled and proceeded to the bedroom.

McGee was lying peacefully on his side sound asleep. Ziva jerked her head towards him with a puzzled look and headed to the bathroom to complete the clean of the area.

"Clear," he heard Ziva's voice from the bathroom.

He sighed and straightened, tucking his weapon back as he went.

Ziva sauntered over and looked down at McGee "Looks like someone's burning the candle at both ends."

"It's…" Tony started to correct her, "Hey! That's right."

Ziva shrugged, "we have the same expression in Yiddish."

Tony sighed "Gibbs is going to kill him."

"Oh yes."

Tony leant forward and tapped McGee hard on the face a couple of time, "Hey!" he called out, "Probie".

McGee stirred. His eyelids came to half mast revealing two red-rimmed, glazed and severely bloodshot eyes. The eyelids hovered a moment and then slid shut again.

Tony shot Ziva a confused glance. "I know that look," he said.

"So do I," Ziva confirmed, "He would not be the first writer to use mood enhancers to write."

"Not Probie."

"Why not Probie?" she attacked, "A few months ago, you didn't even know he had published a book."

"At college," Tony began by way of explanation, "he didn't inhale.".

"He's been drugged," Ziva concluded instantaneously.

She bent down and started slapping his face more urgently, "McGee," she said loudly and distinctly, "You have been drugged. Do you know who did this?"

McGee rolled heavily onto his back with a grunt. The red eyes made a fleeting re-appearance and then sank away again.

* * *

The world was partitioned into two completely distinct universes. In one: the hot tongue and the silky smooth voice. In the other: the harsh cold light of day, thumping head pain, the taste of old mouldy socks in his mouth and Tony and Ziva yelling at him and slapping his face. He knew where he wanted to be, and where he was supposed to be. They were not the same place.

* * *

"Ring them," Ziva instructed but when she looked up, Tony was already hanging up the phone.

"Be here in 10," he said expertly, "Meanwhile, what about a sample for Abby to compare to that sailor".

Ziva smiled, "I'll get the kit."

"I'll phone the boss."

Ziva had just completed drawing blood when the EMTs knocked at the door. Tony led them to the bed explaining the situation on the way with a crisp efficiency Ziva had rarely seen.

After setting up the gurney, the paramedic pulled back the bedclothes in one grand gesture to reveal McGee's track pants and boxers pulled halfway down his thighs. Ziva's eyebrows rose dramatically and she spun away with a barely concealed smirk trying to shield her face with one hand.

"He's large…got larger, ah,… feet, than I expected, she stumbled.

"Smooth," said Tony.

He reached past her and rescued McGee's modesty. "There you go buddy," he said softly.

He stood back with Ziva and together they watched the paramedics take him away.


	6. Like the corners of my mind

It was the smell he noticed first: that biting clean smell that aggravated his allergies. Next came the booming feeling in his head and the horrible taste in his mouth. Nausea made a fleeting guest appearance. He prised his eyelids open and saw the white hospital bed spread out before him. Suspicions confirmed he let his eyelids fall again.

"McGee!" Abby's gravely voice wrenched him back to reality.

He opened his eyes a little more and turned his head towards the sound, "Abby?" he rasped.

"You took your time," she admonished him rising from her chair. "Here, squish over and I'll tell you what we got."

It was only when he saw Abby's steadily advancing studded clothing that he registered that she intended for him to move across the narrow bed to accommodate her body width as well as his own. Frantically, he heaved his un-cooperative limbs away from danger. Fortunately, the further side of the metal bed had been raised and he was able to rest against it, albeit at an uncomfortable angle.

She snuggled up to him, lying on one side, resting her head on his shoulder and laying her arm on his chest.

"That's better," she sighed, "I've been in that chair for hours."

"Abbs, why are you here?" his voice sounded thick and fuzzy but he felt much more alert on the inside. No really. He giggled lightly and tried valiantly to control himself.

"The drug they used on you? It was the same drug used on that sailor," Abby informed him.

He blinked for a moment to give his brain time to process the information. "Oh," was all it could come up with.

"It's very fast acting. Did anyone come into your house last night?"

McGee frowned in a manner he knew was too exaggerated but could not temper.

"I don't think so," he said slowly shifting through the hazy recollections floating tenuously across his mind.

He tried desperately to squeeze out a vision that was furtively poking its head out of some memory trough but then gave up. It was all too hard. He let his eyelids fall again and dozed. He could feel Abby's warm breath on his neck. His mind wandered to a rasping tongue across his cheek. A warm sensation spread out across his groin. What was Abby doing? They were in a hospital!

He woke groggily with a snort to find his mouth open and his chin lying against a wet patch on Abby's hair. He snapped his mouth shut with a grunt, jerking his head up a little to remove the threads of hair that seemed to be caught between his teeth. His head sank again he dreamt of damp hair in the rain.

Visions of fingernails assaulted him from all angles, red shiny, painted fingernails. Something was becoming increasingly obvious: the red fingernails clutching the green handbag were scratched. There was a scratch across two, maybe three fingernails. Jen would never have allowed that. She would have spot filled. He knew her well enough. In fact, she did; he had watched her remove the evidence. The handbag! It was Jen and the handbag and the fingernails. Where had he seen those fingernails recently? Clumsily, he tried to hold all the jumbled pieces together to form a coherent picture.

Suddenly, he was desperate to wake up. This was information he simply had to transmit to Abby. His mind flailed about, trying to break through dream state to reality. As he breached the surface of consciousness, his eyes flew open and he took deep gasping breaths. Abby was already up on one elbow looking at him with a concerned expression on her face.

"It was her," he gasped "The red fingernails. It's Jen."

He looked at Abby wide-eyed and panting waiting for a response. For a moment he feared that he'd said it all in gibberish or that this was reality number two not number one but after a minute's hesitation, Abby's eye's opened wide.

"She drugged you?"

"Yeah, I'm almost sure of it."

"How?"

"I think, she, ah, broke into my apartment…."

"You know you can buy chains, McGee," Abby pointed out.

McGee shot her an annoyed glare and continued steadily, "I'm sure she was in my apartment last night."

He squeezed his eye shut, trying to force the memories out: "I was typing, something happened, she was there, with those fingernails. ARRRGH!" He opened his eyes again and frowned in frustration.

Abby swivelled, sat cross legged on the bed and raised her finger to her chin in traditional "thinkers" pose.

"OK, I can see how she got the drug into you. You can get pretty focussed. You didn't even notice when I was pregnant with twins to Gibbs."

"What!"

"But," Abby continued unperturbed, "how did she get the drug into the Petty Officer? They were in a crowd, there were multiple witnesses and the attendant told Tony and Gibbs this afternoon that the guy seemed perfectly lucid when he got into the roller coaster. Tony and Ziva said every inch of the area was searched and no one was allowed to leave. There are no syringes in my lab, McGee."

"What twins?"

"Focus, McGee." She turned and grabbed him by the shoulders. "It's fast acting, how did in get in his system?"

McGee pulled himself a little higher in the bed but stopped as a wave of dizziness sent him toppling to one side. He was only saved from a complete plummet by the strength of Abby's supportive arms. As the room stopped spinning, a thought sprang into his mind and throttled his brain.

"Abby!" He knew he had dropped something in his mental juggling act; "The handbag!"

Abby understood his cryptic words immediately. She leapt off the bed and started pacing the room.

"She got him to hold the handbag on his lap!"

"Which is why the bar wouldn't lock at first," McGee confirmed.

"And I know where the needle was!" Abby exclaimed, triumphantly.

"In the handbag," said McGee woozily, struggling to get out of bed.

Abby looked crestfallen to have had her thunder stolen but recovered quickly.

"And that stuff I scraped off the bottom of the bar?" Abby continued whipping out her cell phone, "It contained metal, but also nylon and acetate."

She stopped pacing and looked up at him sharply with her finger poised to dial, "Nail polish."


	7. Bag lady

The moment they arrived at headquarters, McGee raced for the observation room. He managed to collect a few bruises as he ricocheted off the corridor walls on his way but, all things considered, he made pretty good time. Ziva and Tony looked up as he ploughed through the door but he ignored them and went straight to the window. Gibbs was already in full swing.

"And you two worked together?" Gibbs was asking.

"Yes," she looked down sadly.

McGee turned to Tony and Ziva, "What's going on?"

"One of her co-workers turned up dead last year," Tony explained.

"And Gibbs thinks she did it?" He directed the question to Ziva in the interest of equality but she seemed to be staring distractedly in the general direction of his groin. He frowned, puzzled.

"No," Tony answered, drawing his gaze away from Ziva, "Petty Officer Dorgon was the last one to see her alive."

McGee's eyebrows rose and he turned his attention back to the window.

"Look check the records," she challenged, "See how many of our girls die each year from drugs? I know almost every girl working the sailor haunts, of course I am going to know her. Did you check the last person to see the other dead girls? No! I probably know them too. I didn't kill them now, did I?"

McGee took a deep breath to steady himself. It seemed impossible to hear those words coming out of her mouth.

"May I look at your handbag?" Gibbs held out his hand.

"No!" the response was instantaneous and reflexive. She tucked the bag under her arm.

"I could get a warrant," Gibbs offered keeping his voice even, his hand still out expectantly.

She melted apologetically and placed the handbag gently in Gibbs' outstretched hand. He tucked it against his chest and folded his arms across it.

"Sorry, it's just…a woman's handbag. It's so, ah, personal, you know."

McGee's saw a little glimpse of the old Jen, the one that wasn't possessed.

"I know, I've been married a few times. All women love their handbags."

McGee shot Ziva a questioning look but turned away quickly when he met her steely glare.

"Do you ever put it down?"

"No never."

"What about to ride the roller coaster?"

Her eyes flitted away for a moment before she dragged them back to his face.

"You got him to put it on his lap, didn't you?"

She looked down, mortified, "I asked him to tuck it under his T-shirt", she admitted quietly.

"And the bar wouldn't lock?" Gibbs concluded sitting back in his chair and watching her reactions intently.

"But I never thought this would happen," she pleaded with him to believe her.

They engaged in a staring match for a moment until Gibbs broke contact. He placed the handbag on the desk and picked up a file.

"According to your statement," he read out, "You had your eyes shut the whole time." He snapped the folder shut and looked at her over the top of his glasses, "Is THAT part true?"

"Oh yes!" she assured him.

McGee frowned a little. Something wasn't quite right. His brain, although better, was still on some sort of time delay.

"McGee," Gibbs called out without taking his eyes off her, "take this to Abby."

It took a moment before McGee realised he was supposed to be center stage. He had been labouring under the assumption that Gibbs didn't know he was there. Now he knew how the fly on the wall felt when it was about to be swatted. He took his cue and dashed out of the observation room appearing at Gibbs' side moments later. She looked up at him sweetly and it sent shudders down his spine.

"McGee!"

He jumped, startled, his eyes jerking to Gibbs

"On it Boss."

* * *

Abby was waiting at the door of the garage with her hand outstretched like an impatient relay runner. McGee passed her the bag and she raced to a bench and dumped the contents. She looked up at McGee.

"I have a theory," she said seriously. "Sit down in the carriage, McGee."

He sat as requested.

"And hold this in your lap," she instructed, handing him the bag.

She lowered the bar slowly, staring intently at his lap.

"You're downgrading the notebook size, aren't you?" He queried.

A distracted smile flitted over her lips but her eyes stayed glued to the spot. "No Timmy," she said finally, "I'm trying to work out if you could inject someone by putting a syringe in a bag on their lap and then squashing a bar down onto it."

The bar stayed stubbornly above the locking position and she gave it a sudden thump to punch it all the way down. McGee hunched forward and grunted with the force.

"So how did he get out?" Abby pondered, ignoring McGee's strangled breathing.

McGee looked down at the bag on his lap and the image of scratched fingernails materialised over the top.

"She pulled it off his lap," he said quietly, that's how she scratched the nail polish off onto the bar.

Abby tugged hard and the bag came out. Together they inspected the gap its absence had left. Abby asked the question with her eyebrows and McGee responded, carefully threading his legs out from under the bar then hoisting one leg over the side of the carriage, then the other.

Abby let out a whoosh of air. "So it can be done."

"But why would you climb out of a moving roller coaster?"

"Never under estimate what people will do when drugged. It just needs mere suggestion. She might have told him the ride was over and the bar was stuck."

McGee frowned at her, "I don't think people would…would they?"

"Hey," she reminded him, "you're the one who's been hypnotised. Would you have climbed out a window if you were asked to?"

"No!"

"What if she convinced you it was safe?"

She tossed the bag lightly in the air, "Let's see what the mass spec says."


	8. Closure

It was getting late and the rain had started up again. The dark and drizzly night seemed at odds with the bright lights and bustle of activity in Abby's lab. McGee watched mesmerized as Abby ran from one machine to the other, trying to keep every analysis plate spinning. Pieces of green handbag lay scattered over the benches. He allowed his tired eyes an extra long blink. It didn't matter how long he had slept in that hospital, his body was craving rest. He folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them.

"And we have a winner!"

McGee's head popped up, "which means?"

"There was residue of the drug all over the inside of her handbag."

"Is that a crime?"

"Well, yes," Abby considered thoughtfully, "but that's not actually the point. There was also residue on the outside of the bag, spread from a point."

"The injection site," McGee concluded.

He was pleased, firstly because they finally had something that constituted the word 'evidence' and secondly because his brain seemed to have rejoined the party.

Another machine called impatiently for Abby and she skipped off happily.

"And we have a DNA match from inside the bag!"

McGee rose from his stool to get a better look at the screen, "P.O. Dorgon's?"

"Nope."

"Then?"

Abby spun to look at him. "Yours."

"What?"

"To be specific, half of yours."

"What?" OK, re-examination of brain status.

"At least you had safe sex with your childhood sweetheart."

"She's not my…what? How?"

"My guess is she stored a condom in there."

McGee sat heavily; this whole thing was making him dizzy. He rested his elbows on the bench, closed his eyes and rubbed the tips of his fingers across his sweat-slippery temples. He paused his massaging and squeezed his eyes shut tightly in frustration. Without warning, an image confronted him: fingernails in delicate places, questions, pleasure,…ecstasy

Shocked, he opened his eyes and raised his head slowly until his gaze was level with Abby's.

"How dare she!" He was vibrating with rage. "She broke into my apartment, she drugged me and she interrogated me! It's… it's violation. How could she do that?"

"Wow, Gibbs has got to learn that technique."

Something approaching pure anger shot from McGee taking Abby aback. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect his emotions and force himself to think on a more rational level. When he opened them again, he saw Abby staring at him like a startled rabbit.

His countenance softened immediately and his licked his lips as he tried to think of someway to apologise. He tracked her movement towards him with his body until she reached out gently and put her arms around his neck. Winding his arms around her waist, he soaked up her warmth, marvelling at how comforting affectionate, well intentioned physical contact could be. She pulled away from him a little and he frowned thoughtfully at her.

"What did I say to her?" He mused, "Dammit, I can't remember."

He looked up at Abby abruptly, "We have to talk to Gibbs."

* * *

"No," said Gibbs firmly.

"But…"

"No."

"When Boss?" It hadn't meant to come out as an act of defiance but he knew he could do this and the Boss seemed hell bent on stopping him.

Gibbs paused, sizing him up.

"I can do this Boss. I don't care if she was the object of an adolescent crush, she killed someone and she interrogated me under duress. She drugged me! I can nail her."

"I thought you already..."

McGee silenced Tony with a glare and returned his attention to Gibbs.

Gibbs was unmoving but his eyes betrayed the battle within. There was a time when everyone had to confront their fallen idols and this was McGee's.

"OK," he said in a quiet calculating voice.

* * *

Gibbs sat back thoughtfully in a chair in the observation room with his arms crossed loosely across his chest. He watched as the young woman in the interrogation room shuffled nervously in her seat. At his side, Ziva and Tony stood silently. The door to the interrogation room creaked open and McGee popped his head in.

"Jen," he whispered quietly.

"Roll," said Gibbs.

"Tim?"

"Yeah, hi." He looked up the corridor and then slid into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Gibbs has been called up to the director's office so I thought I'd sneak in and see how you're doing."

"Not good," she admitted, "where is my handbag?"

"Ah, probably still being tested?"

"For what?"

"You know, fingerprints and stuff."

Gibbs sighed: fingerprints? He didn't even have gloves on when he took the bag. McGee better have more than this or he was going to think he was just in there for a final fling.

McGee snuck around to the other side of the table and sat opposite her.

"I couldn't believe it when I saw you next to a roller coaster after all these years," he began conversationally.

She gave a brief warm, if slightly suspicious smile.

"Last time you were with Sarah and my mother made me go on with you."

Her smile was more relaxed, "I see you still throw up."

He shrugged, "I stay away from them as much as possible. You used to love them though," he reminded her, "You used to throw your hands up and scream. But you.."

"Never closed my eyes," they said in unison.

She laughed a little.

"Even on that one? It was higher than anything we ever had, I'm sure."

"Oh you never saw how high any of them were," she pointed out, "But yes that one is huge and no, I didn't."

"Sarah used to love them too."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Do still keep in contact?"

"Oh yes! I rang her only a couple of days…"

"To get my address?" there was an uneasy tinge to his tone.

"Yes," she faltered, "so I could look you up after all this is over."

"So you've never seen my place?"

She was getting wary, "No but Sarah told me all about it."

"So there should be none of your fingerprints at my place then?"

She paused, "No"

"I remember, Jen," now there was a hard, bitter edge to his voice. "I remember how you never closed your eyes on a roller coaster, how you never let your nails get scratched and I remember last night."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

"Did you like it?"

He fought back the rage bubbling dangerously close to the surface. In the observation room, Gibbs leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees. "Steady," he muttered.

"We know you hid the syringe in your bag, we know you injected P.O. Dorgon when you put the bag on his lap and the bar came down: the drug residue is on both sides of your bag." He worked hard to control his emotions; vengeance was going to be served stony cold. "We have your nail polish on the underside of the bar from where you wrenched the bag out. He was a good man, Jen, a sailor, a family man.."

"A family man!" She shrieked. "He had a new girl every time he was in port. He was a drug pusher. Do you know how many girls overdosed because he started them?"

"So you stopped him?"

In the observation room, a small smile hung on Gibbs' lips.

"It's not what you think."

"What that you're a psychotic drug-totting prostitute?"

"Close," she smiled gently for a moment and reached into her bra cup. The three agents in the observation room bounced up like jack-in-boxes rocking with anticipation.

She flipped a police badge on the table.

"Don't blow it," she said sternly.

McGee looked from the badge to her face.

"Why me?" He just had to know.

"I had to ascertain how much NCIS knew. This has been a long operation." She said matter-of-factly.

She said it so casually; it was hard to believe she was talking about the same incident that was still searing his mind. He noted that she now sported a business-like attitude which paradoxically reminded him of the old Jen he knew. Perhaps more mature, more calculating. He drew himself back to the matter at hand.

"You killed him?" he asked matter-of-factly.

"Someone had to," she said quietly.

"No," he said finally, "they didn't."

He stood from the table and took a long look at the observation window. Then he turned and headed wordlessly for the door.

"Let's go get her," said Gibbs quietly.

--END--


End file.
